


Soft & Scaled

by MightyRoosh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Aziraphale (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 15:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightyRoosh/pseuds/MightyRoosh
Summary: The Apocalypse averted, they are free to return to their lives. Free and on their own side.Crowley has been pining for Aziraphale for millenia.It finally seems like the angel might miraculously feels the same way.So why did he push him away?





	1. Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a pile of self-indulgent angst. 
> 
> Please forgive me. 
> 
> It's based on the TV series version of events rather than the book and my version of Aziraphale in this fic (although I ADORE Michael Sheen's portayal) is quite a bit chubbier than Mr. Sheen (this adorable drawing it how I envisioned him : https://faiyx.tumblr.com/post/186567282174/fuck-climate-change) 
> 
> Lots of misunderstandings and mutual appreciation of each other.

Aziraphale was soft. He was a being of love.

He loved the planet Earth, on which he had resided for over 6,000 years.  
He loved the beauty, the vast unique landscapes that had been created by Her, so very long ago.  
He loved the variety of animals and plants that had developed and thrived in every corner of the planet.  
He loved the humans who populated Earth, their varying shapes and sizes and colours. All of the different customs and traditions that were precious to them. He loved that they loved deeply and celebrated with vigour. 

He loved their _food._

As an ethereal being, Aziraphale had no physical requirement to eat, sleep or even breathe. While sleeping still remained somewhat of a mystery to him, he had developed a habit of breathing, so as not to stand out while in the company of humans. 

The habit of eating followed not long after (humans really did tie so many of their rituals and celebrations to food!). Wanting to fit in and understand the mortal creatures better, Aziraphale had joined in. And found yet another thing to add to the list of things that he loved. 

His human corporation had softened over the centuries of good food, good wine and good company. He had relished the freedom of his 'field work', no longer having to fight battles and guard gates. His body was soft on the outside, just like he was on the inside.

\-----

Crowley was hard. A fallen angel, a serpentine demon from Hell. Vicious and scheming, Hell's most dedicated spawn. 

(Well, at least that was the impression that he attempted to portray to his demonic brethren.) 

He had spent six millennia on planet Earth, and had watched the humans destroy so much of the beauty and grace that they had been gifted with. 

Crowley found humans difficult. So much hardship and hatred. War. Famine. Pestilence. Pollution. Death. Apocalyptic ideals that the human race spread and encouraged at every possible juncture. 

He had figured out early on that he had to do little more than inconvenience the humans to create a snowball effect of destruction that even Hell itself could feel. They really didn't need all that much in the way of demonic influence to willfully wreak havoc. 

Humanity's road to destruction was long, but it would eventually have to come to an end. Crowley remained hard, refusing to care for any of it, the fear of loss still curling, snakelike, through his brain. Reminding him of his Fall. How nothing was ever made to last. On more than one occasion, he has simply slept a century away, to avoid dealing with it. 

Despite spending most of his time in his human form over the centuries, Crowley retained several features of a serpentine nature. He was tall and exceptionally slender; slinky even. When he walked, his hips meandered and swished, as though his spine had never quite gotten used to the idea of having legs. His eyes (firmly hidden behind dark glasses since the Fall of Rome) were those of a snake; golden with slitted irises. A small symbol of a snake graced the top of one cheekbone. Patches of shiny black scales followed the line of his spine. Constant reminders of the creature he had become.

\-----

Aziraphale and Crowley had met at the very beginning. Eden. 

Aziraphale had not known what to make of the demon on their first encounter, standing on the tall, protective wall of the Garden, watching the humans leave their paradise, his own god-given weapon in hand.  
He had been wary, of course he had. This was a _demon_ for Heaven's sake! But this demon was… different.  
He had tempted the humans of course, that was what demons _do_.  
But he had only wanted them to be aware of it all. This world, their home. He had wanted them to have the ability to ask questions, to learn. Surely that couldn't be a bad thing? 

Crowley had also known from the very beginning. The angel was like nothing he'd ever encountered before. Willing to help the humans. He'd given away his flaming sword for Satan's sake! He worried about them, between bouts of fretting that he had been a bad angel.  
Crowley knew bad angels. Angels that still remained in Heaven despite it all.  
This angel was the epitome of love and light.  
It took Crowley all of five minutes to fall irreversibly in love with him. 

\------

Throughout the intertwining years on Earth, they had developed a friendship of sorts, a kind of companionship that came naturally from being the only two immortals to make a permanent residence on the planet. They always managed to find one another. 

Their matching moralistic grey areas helped a lot too.  
Aziraphale was occasionally a tad prideful (especially of his extensive book collection) and often gluttonous.  
Crowley abhorred the idea of senseless murder and violence and preferred to annoy than to annihilate. Not particularly demonic in the grand scheme of it all. 

Crowley had long stopped wondering if their friendship could become anything more than a platonic plateau. Hi--the angel had made the point often enough. They were "on different sides". Being reminded of his Fallen status each time he attempted to get closer to the angel hurt. It hurt a lot. Eventually he had simply stopped trying, accepting that this must surely be his true punishment; to love an angel who could never love him back.  
They were friends. That would be enough for him. 

And then the Apocalypse happened. 

\-----

Or rather, it didn't. 

The Apocalypse had been averted. Heaven and Hell's respective death sentences had failed, thanks to Agnes Nutter's final prediction. They had dined at the Ritz, and a nightingale had sang in Berkeley Square. It had been _perfect_. 

Two weeks had passed since what Crowley privately referred to as their "Apocadidn't Date". Dusk had fallen and the pair were in the cosy back room of Aziraphale's bookshop (newly reconstructed, thank you Adam!).  
Aziraphale was perched in an armchair, lost in a book from the early 1800's that he had never quite found the time to read. He had been somewhat quiet all day, so they hadn't spoken much.  
Crowley lay sprawled on the couch opposite, sliding in and out of absent daydreams, soaking in the warmth of both the room and hi--the angel's presence. 

Crowley had felt the smallest glimmer of hope when the angel had agreed that they were indeed now on their own side. He thought it might have helped to reduce the lingering reluctance to be close to him. He longed to hold the soft little creature in his arms, to stroke his fluffy blond curls and perhaps even kis-- no.  
Crowley pulled himself aggressively from the daydream and crashed to the floor.  
Aziraphale startled and shut his book. 

"Crowley! Are you quite alright, my dear?" 

Crowley looked at him sheepishly and muttered nonsense under his breath, before jumping to his feet and slinking into the small kitchenette, desperate for a distraction. 

Aziraphale smiled, satisfied that only the demon's pride seemed to be wounded.  
He stretched, placing his book on the coffee table in front of him. 

Crowley returned to the room, two wine glasses in one hand and at least four bottles of wine under the opposite arm. 

"Can I tempt you to a tipple, angel?"

Crowley didn't miss the cloudy look that crossed Aziraphale's face. He immediately backtracked. 

"Oh angel, you know what I mean! It's just a--what do they call it??-- expression! Yeah, just an expression! We're on our side now, right?" 

Aziraphale quickly shook off the strange look with a little wiggle of his shoulders (Crowley tried hard not to swoon at the adorable little display). 

"Oh of course my dear! Don't mind me, just an odd mood today, that's all. Perhaps my age is finally catching up on me!" 

He chuckled softly at that, and took the glass that Crowley offered.  
He had curled in on himself a little and his free arm lay across his body, shielding his torso. He wasn't making eye contact and still seemed quite troubled. 

As with most situations with hi-the angel, Crowley took note immediately. 

\-----

Several hours had passed, and at least five bottles of wine. Aziraphale had relocated to the couch, leaning slightly against one armrest. Crowley had found himself back on the floor, albeit this time on purpose. His back was pressed against the couch, head lolling back on the cushion, mere centimetres from Aziraphale's deliciously padded thigh.

They had been rambling about ducks, one of Crowley's favourite topics. Aziraphale had done a little research (they call it 'Google', Crowley, it's like an infinite encyclopedia!) and had determined that ducks did in fact have ears. Crowley had been doing his own research, and could now imitate a duck to perfection. 

Several minutes of drunken quacking later and they were both in peals of laughter. Crowley loved making Aziraphale laugh. Pride blossomed within him and made him feel warm (although he tried to convince himself that it was just the alcohol.)

They had finally subsided to a couple of occasional chuckles, when Crowley felt Aziraphale's soft hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh Crowley! (slightly slurred, followed by another soft laugh) Y-you always know just how to make me laugh! I love you so very much!" 

Crowley froze. What? 

He turned to the angel slowly, and noticed a soft blush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. Crowley swallowed thickly, the Dutch courage bolstering him to speak. 

"Er… Yeah, I mean… we're _friends_ (a short pause, to allow room for an argument that was not voiced). You're an angel, you have to love all--all creatures great and small (_especially the ducks_, he mumbled as an afterthought)… I'm glad that the all encompassing angelic love or whatever extends to this… to our friendship and such…" 

He hiccupped quietly and turned away, embarrassed. How badly he wished he hadn't said anything. 

The hand on his shoulder began to move, slowly. He felt fingers press softly to his cheekbone. 

" Crowley… Crowley, look at me?"

Crowley turned back reluctantly, meeting the angel's eyes. 

"While you are correct that I am obliged to love all of Her creations, I feel you may have misunderstood my meaning." 

He looked nervous, but defiant. Leaning down, he carefully cupped Crowley's face and softly kissed his lips, before slowly pulling away. 

Crowley stared at him, mouth agape. Long slender fingers touched his lips, where he could still feel the angel's kiss. 

Aziraphale looked flustered. 

"I of course understand if you… if you don't quite feel the same way, my dear boy. I daresay I'm not quite a 'catch' as the humans say… I just felt as we are on our own side now, you deserved to know." 

Aziraphale looked a little crestfallen, and before he could give it a second thought, Crowley had sprang to his knees in front of him, and was kissing him as though his life depended on it. 

"Not a catch? Not a catch?" he gasped, taking a breath between frantic kisses. "Who is teaching you these things?" 

Another kiss, fingers stroking through the halo like curls atop the angels head. 

"You are the most glorious being on this planet. I have experienced both Heaven and Hell and no one holds a candle to you. How could you ever think I wouldn't love you?"

Aziraphale's hands had found their way to Crowley's slender hips, thumbs stroking the dip of his hip bones through his clothes. Crowley tugged his shirt up, longing to have the angel's hands on his skin. Aziraphale obliged immediately, and Crowley nearly sank through the floor with delight. 

_"I've died. I've discorporated. There is no way this is happening."_

His hands snaked down Aziraphale's frame, attempting to slide them under his lovingly worn waistcoat and return the favour. How many years he had craved an opportunity to touch the beautiful being, to squeeze him tightly in his arms?

He felt Aziraphale's hands stroke against the trail of scales that led from his neck to his tailbone, just as he managed to get his hands on the flesh of Aziraphale's gently rounded hips--

And suddenly he was being pushed to the floor, the connection broken. 

Aziraphale looked terrified, an expression not unlike disgust filling his face. 

"I can't… I--I'm sorry, I can't let you touch me." 

The scales. The _sssscalessss. _

Crowley scurried to his feet, his face like thunder. 

"I'm sorry that you had to be reminded yet again that I'm a _demon_, Aziraphale."  
His voice shook, trying (and failing) to disguise the hurt he felt.  
"I'm sorry that a couple of drinks gave you some kind of fucki-- _amnesia_ where you were able to forget for a couple of minutes that I'm not worthy, that I'm just an _unforgivable creature_…"

Aziraphale sat helplessly, his eyes looked watery, as though he was about to cry. 

"Oh Crowley no, it's not you, it's…" 

Crowley laughed bitterly, cutting him off. 

"It's not you, it's me? Really Aziraphale, _really_?" 

His voice was hard, the effort to keep himself together becoming too much. With one last glance at the angel, he swept out the door and into the night 

Aziraphale remained on the couch as the bookshop door slammed, tears finally escaping and trailing down his cheeks.


	2. Conclusions

It had been almost a week, and Aziraphale had yet to hear anything from Crowley.   
He had called his mobile the morning after their argument, but Crowley had refused to answer.   
He wanted desperately to drop by Crowley's apartment, but he worried that the demon would still refuse to speak to him, and he couldn't bare to see the hurt he'd caused reflected on the demon's face. 

It was a misunderstanding, but it had opened up a cavern of insecurity that Aziraphale now realised he had helped develop over their many centuries of companionship. 

So many years of fear, of holding back, of not allowing their friendship to be recognised. The many times he had reminded Crowley of his Fall. 

Crowley had never meant to Fall. And yet all Aziraphale ever did was remind him of it, to avoid accepting the simple fact that he loved him, that he had loved him for decades, if not centuries. 

Aziraphale was not a stranger to insecurities. He had often doubted his credentials as an angel, struggling to find common ground with the others whom he had regular contact with.   
He didn't always agree with their views of the world, the world he had come to love so dearly. It was all black and white to them. Wanting to impress them had been one of the biggest reasons for keeping Crowley at an arm's length. Fraternising with a demon? The _ultimate_ treachery. 

He had never exactly found issue with his appearance however, not until his meeting with Gabriel in the park, right before the Notpocalypse.   
Gabriel had pointed it out after snidely remarking on Aziraphale's attachment to the Earth (making it seem like a bad thing, in fact). He had suggested that Aziraphale "lose the gut" and get back into fighting shape for the impending war. 

The comment had slipped his mind during the hectic days that followed, nothing like saving the world to make one focus on the _important_ things. 

But afterwards, after it was all over, and he and Crowley were free to return to London with the promise of no-contact from both of their respective offices, the thought had wormed its way back into his mind. 

He had occupied Crowley's body in Hell, a body which he had admired from a distance for many years. Thinking of the time spent in the lithe frame had made him insecure at the thought of Crowley occupying his own chubby corporation, many years of indulgence evident beneath his neat, well worn clothes. 

It was such a silly thing to worry about, he knew it. He was an angel. But an unofficial banishment from Heaven was essentially a guarantee that this corporation would be all he had for the rest of eternity. Crowley may care for him on some level, but he couldn't imagine the demon being attracted to him. 

So many years of turning his back on the only being he had ever truly loved, hurting him despite the demon always showing up to save him. Acts of service, acts of love? He hadn't dared hope his feelings would be reciprocated, and yet they were. And then he had pushed the demon away, simply for touching him. And allowed him to leave believing that he was the one at fault, unattractive and unlovable. 

What had he done? 

\-----

Aziraphale was standing outside Crowley's apartment, shuffling from one foot to the other, unsure how to proceed. He was so nervous, fearing that they had reached the point of no return. 

He had to try and fix this. 

Miracling the door open, he entered the apartment. It was as sparse as ever, a reaction no doubt to the cramped conditions of Hell. He walked through the entrance hallway, glancing into rooms as he went, looking for any trace of Crowley. 

Office. 

Plant room. 

Kitchen. 

Eventually he reached the bedroom, a room he had only glanced into before. The door was ajar and the shutters covering the small windows were closed. The only light in the room came from the hallway. The black covers on the bed were in disarray and a lump in the middle of it all indicated Crowley's location, curled up and not moving. 

Aziraphale crossed the room and stood next to the bed, unsure of what to do. He wonders if he should announce his presence, or shake Crowley to wake him. He did not think the demon would take well to his intrusion.

Eventually he decided. Taking a deep (albeit unnecessary) breath, he removed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, his shoes, socks and trousers. Standing in his boxers and a worn undershirt, he pulled the covers up at the corner and slid into the bed. He located Crowley, his skinny form curled in on himself and pressed himself against his back, one arm tucked around the demon's waist. 

Crowley did not wake immediately. His sleepily pressed himself back against the soft surface behind him, snuggling into the embrace.   
"Angel…" he mumbled, yellow eyes opening slowly. "A-angel? Wh-what.. Wha--" 

He turned quickly in Aziraphale's arms, eyes wide and fearful. 

"Aziraphale? _Aziraphale_??" 

Crowley immediately tried to pull himself away, panicking and attempting to get as far away from the angel as he could. Aziraphale would not let go. He wrapped both arms around the demon, holding him tight and pinning his arms to his sides. 

They lay there for several minutes. Crowley remained stiff and scared, unsure if he was truly awake or not (his brain liked to play tricks on him). 

Eventually Aziraphale spoke. 

"Words cannot express how unbelievably sorry I am, my dear Crowley." he began. "Sorry for what happened last week. Sorry for each and every time I have made you feel unworthy, or unloved. For every time you have saved me or been there for me and received nothing in return but disdain. For every time I pushed you away when I should have pulled you closer. For not seeing your love over all these years and especially, _especially_ for not being deserving of it."

Crowley stayed quiet until he had finished, yellow eyes trained on his face. He allowed a silence to fill the room before finally responding. 

"I… I don't know what to say Aziraphale. You don't have to be sorry. I know why you couldn't be seen me for all of those years. I could never have lived with myself if they had made you fall too."

He paused, then swallowed. 

"I know why you pushed me away. I understand. I try to you know… hide it. I keep my eyes covered…"  
He glanced down, remembering that his sunglasses were currently on his bedside locker, snake eyes very much on show.   
"The scales and stuff-- there's only so much I can hide in a human form. I've managed to avoid having it as visible as Hastur or Ligur. They revel in being what they-- what _we_ are. But there's always some parts that remain visible. We don't have to…you know… be physical or anything. I understand if it disgusts you. It disgusts me too."

He fell into silence, still refusing to look Aziraphale in the eye. 

A soft kiss on the forehead startled him. 

"Crowley, I can absolutely assure you, without a shadow of a doubt, that you do not disgust me. You never have, you have fascinated me from the very beginning, since that very first meeting on the wall of the Garden."

His hand slid under Crowley's soft black t-shirt, stroking the thin line of scales from nape to lower back, causing Crowley to shiver. 

"You are so very beautiful. Your eyes light up such a beautiful colour when you are excited, almost like honey. You're still so ethereal, despite everything. You hold yourself with such grace."

He glanced down to where his rounded belly pressed against Crowley's flat stomach. 

"I am afraid I have very little to offer you in return, in the way of physical beauty. It was my fear that you would be disgusted by me that had me pushing you away, my dear boy. Your corporation is an example of physical perfection and mine is… not." 

He looked so sad. Crowley moved his arms slowly beneath Aziraphale's and wrapped them tightly around his soft waist, squeezing him. 

"Wherever did you get such a ridiculous idea from?" 

His hand was stroking along one of Aziraphale's wide hips now, slowly moving to rest on the side of his stomach, kneading gently, not unlike a cat. 

"Er…". The kneading was unexpected. Crowley seemed not to mind at all, seeming almost as though he was enjoying the soft body beneath his hands. 

"Gabriel. He met me in the park prior to the Apocalypse that we averted. He made the… err… quite valid point… that I have a gut. And that I've let this corporation get soft. And I just worried… you know… you've had so many opportunities and temptations over the years. Would you really be content with me, when you could have anyone you want?"

Crowley was quiet, his hands still running along Aziraphale's body. Squeezing where his tummy stuck out a little over his boxers. Hands running up and down his broad back, feather light touches to his rounded upper arms, his thick thighs. 

"You are such an idiot." 

It was quiet, but Aziraphale heard it, and he looked at the demon with an expression of confusion and hurt. 

"Sorry, sorry! It's just.. Really! Gabriel doesn't have the slightest idea what he's on about. Honestly, what does he know?" 

"I'm not denying that you're soft, angel. You very much are-" (another little squeeze of his belly) "-- but you have to get rid of this idea that there's something _wrong_ with that, just because some berk of an archangel seems to think so.   
It shows that you've settled here, that you have learned to enjoy yourself and all that this world has to offer. You're a soft, caring, loving creature and your body is so warm and welcoming like this. I can't count the amount of times I've wanted to slip into my snake form and just lay on that lovely plush tummy of yours, soaking up your body heat. You are my perfect, soft little angel and you are mine for eternity."

Aziraphale could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks, as his face broke into a dazzling smile. 

The kisses that followed were frantic, both wanting to prove to one another just how much the other meant to them. Not one part of either body remained untouched but neither of them felt any need to worry. 

\-----

Winter was harsh that year in London. It was usually the time of year that Crowley found the most difficult, his skinny, cold blooded body no match for the cold. 

This year however, he had the-- _HIS_ angel to keep him warm. 

Aziraphale enjoyed the winter period, the excuse to stay indoors, drink mulled wine and snack on all manner of sweet treats was an immediate draw for him. He was working on allowing himself to love and appreciate all the good the world provided him with and not feel guilty for doing so. 

Leaning forward on his couch, he raised a glass of wine to his demon, who was sprawled across his lap, stealing his warmth. His soulmate. 

They clinked glasses and murmured a toast which had begun in the Ritz at the beginning of the rest of their lives. 

"To the world".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, and don't hate me too much for making them suffer!


End file.
